


I Don't Wanna Bruise Your Ears

by IzzieTheEnamored



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Forced Prostitution, Implied Drug Use, Implied under age, M/M, POV Second Person, Sex Trafficking, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzieTheEnamored/pseuds/IzzieTheEnamored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In the end, what stops you from going back to the needle is a random boy in the supermarket.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Harry is kind of a drug addicted prostitute and Louis is kind of his saving grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Wanna Bruise Your Ears

It hurts. Everything about this hurts. They say it's not your fault but you can't help but feel responsible. They use a lot specific terms to describe your experience, 'forced' and 'raped' and 'kidnapped' being the most common. You can't help but disagree with the things they say. 'He didn't have a choice' your lawyer says to the judge. Wrong, you think, wrongwrongwrong. You had a choice. It was your choice to dress the way you did, it was your choice to walk home, it was your choice to get into the van, it was your choice to return to your pimp for a new hit every night. You chose to plunge a needle into your veins over and over, you chose to be a slut, you chose to let those men touch you.

'Miracle'. That's another overused term. Everyone you meet wants to call you a miracle. 'My Harry. The Miracle. He survived the impossible, you know?' Your mom says at your celebratory dinner the night the men who kidnapped you are put into prison. They almost got away. The jury almost ruled in their favor because they thought your drug use made it consensual. You agree with that. You're not sure what made them change their minds; if you had the choice than you would probably still be on your knees, taking a dick so you can obtain another hit of that smooth substance. 

You miss it, the drug. Sometimes, you swear you can still feel it thrumming through your veins; almost like it never left. It burns like a fire in your heart, the need. Needneedneed, You think about it every second of every day. You trace the edges of the heartbeat that is far too regular, far too slow, and feast off memories of the way it felt as it poisoned your bloodstream. You know the statistics; heroin's bad, heroin kills. You don't really care though; if it ends up killing you than that's just an added bonus. 

In the end, what stops you from going back to the needle is a random boy in the supermarket. It's stupid; there are so many honorable things you could have resisted for. Like the will to live or something like that. But when it comes down to it, what stops you from going behind the local Tesco and giving your college fund to some strange guy you found on the internet, is a cerulean eyed boy with sex hair. He's buying cheetos and he's beautiful and so bright that it _hurts_.

You know your sudden attachment to this boy is probably fueled by some psychological last resort, but you don't care. All you care about is how much he makes you _want_.

"Hi, mate." he says, looking up from where he's reading the nutrition facts on the bag of cheetos in his hands. 

"You, of all people, do not need to worry about counting calories." You say and he grins. He has smile lines and he looks like he can't even be older than twenty. 

"Have you seen my arse?" he asks, biting his lip. Your pretty sure that he's flirting with you. In your previous line of work, something you don't want to be thinking about right now, you became very good at recognizing when people want you. Blue eyed babe throws everything off. Your unsure of everything and you palms are sweating and you _need_ this conversation like you need air. 

"Yeah, I have. You arse is why I'm failing at chatting you up." you say. 

And that, is the story of your first conversation with Louis. Before you know it, you two are going on dates and kissing and upgrading your Facebook statuses and it's great. 

You hit a bump of sorts when Louis sees you picture on the news. They're doing some feature about sex trafficking and using your story as an example. You can't turn the telly off fast enough. Louis goes very still. 

"You didn't tell me." he says finally. Your hoping that if you don't say anything he'll just drop it because you really can't talk about this with _Louis_. It deathly silent for a minute. "You don't have to tell me, you know? I'm just surprised that you didn't even mention it. You do realize that we've been dating for eight months?" 

"Its not my story to tell." You say. Louis looks mildly horrified and this is why you didn't tell him. You knew he would find you disgusting if he knew.

"What do you mean it's not your story. Harry, it happened to you!" You just shrug. Youre not sure how to express the way you feel about the whole thing. The way you feel about how they latched onto the whole thing and mutilated and glamorized it. The way they drew such distinct lines between right and wrong and filled in the missing pieces and expected you to go along with it. 

"No one even asked me what actually happened. So it's not my story that they're telling, it's theirs." Louis nods as if that makes sense and he doesn't look so horrified you feel so relieved.

"So tell me your story." You think you can do that for him. He deserve some sort of explanation. And yeah, he'll probably leave once he knows but at least he'll be fully informed.

"When I was fifteen years old..." you start. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr: belleisalright  
> Follow me and we can be friends(:
> 
> Unbetaed.
> 
> Comments? Concerns? Reviews?


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